


October

by Elvendork



Series: Calendar Verse [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: AU, Family, Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvendork/pseuds/Elvendork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Douglas is absolutely not sulking and Martin gets stuck up a tree.</p><p>Set in the same verse as "September" but can stand alone: AU which started from a prompt asking for MJN as an actual family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	October

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this planned since I first wrote September, but I'd only actually written it up to the point Martin starts to climb the tree. I'd hit a block and among other things, couldn't settle on a name for the girl. Then Uskerty and Vaduz happened, and the next ten pages basically wrote themselves...
> 
> This has about as much plot-line as September. Which is to say, none. It might help for character background to have read September, but it's not really that important.
> 
> I hope you like it.

Douglas jumps smoothly from the moving swing, lands with somewhat less than his usual flourish, and straightens up with a scowl on his face. Martin watches enviously.

‘Do you think if you did that from _really_ high up, you’d be able to fly?’ he asks.

‘No,’ Douglas replies shortly.

‘Do you think _I_ could?’

‘Definitely not.’

‘Oh,’ says Martin, using his foot to push himself gently back and forth, both hands curled around the chains of his own swing. Douglas huffs and sits cross-legged on the ground, pulling up tufts of grass and glaring at them. Arthur squeals as his fifth failed attempt at climbing up the slide leaves him sprawled on the floor and missing his hat. He looks delighted about it. Martin watches him scramble to his feet and manage to get almost halfway up again before slipping. Then he turns back to Douglas. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks nervously.

‘I’m fine,’ Douglas snaps, ‘can’t you shut up for five minutes?’

‘You don’t look fine,’ Martin presses. He stops the idle movement of the swing and frowns, but Douglas isn’t looking at him.

‘Well I am, so why don’t you leave me alone?’

‘Why don’t you go home if you hate it here so much?’ Martin challenges irritably.

‘I can’t, I have to babysit you two, don’t I?’

‘I don’t need _babysitting_!’

‘Yes you do.’ Douglas throws his handful of grass to the floor and gets up, starting to pace around the perimeter of the playground, running his hand absently along the top of the short fence.

‘I’m not a baby.’

‘You are.’

‘I’m six and nearly a whole quarter. I’m not a baby!’

‘ _I’m_ nearly twelve. You’re a baby compared to me.’

‘I’m older than Arthur.’

‘ _Everyone’s_ older than Arthur; or nearly everyone, anyway.’

Arthur ignores both of them, now testing whether a run-up will help his scaling of the slide. Martin cranes his head around to continue watching Douglas, who is now behind him. There is silence for several moments before Martin plucks up the courage for another attack.

‘Is it about your Dad?’ he asks in a rush, almost hoping his voice is too quiet for Douglas to have heard. Douglas stops walking.

‘What about my Dad?’

‘Is he why you’re upset?’

‘I’m not upset!’ Douglas insists, marching onwards again.

‘You are.’

‘If I _was_ ,’ Douglas begins, ‘I’m not, but if I _was_ , why would it be about _him_?’

‘Well…he left today, didn’t he? I mean not _today_ , but…eight years ago. On today’s date.’

Douglas shrugs, feigning nonchalance, ‘why would that make me upset? And how do you know that?’

‘I heard Mum telling Herc,’ Martin admits sheepishly, looking away. He can’t really quite process the idea of something happening a whole _eight years_ ago – it just seems like such an impossibly long time – but he knows enough to recognise his mother’s _worried_ voice. Douglas doesn’t reply. ‘It’s okay,’ Martin continues after another long pause.

‘I know it is. Because I’m fine.’

‘I get sad sometimes.’

‘You get sad _all_ the time,’ Douglas corrects, rolling his eyes.

‘I mean I get sad about _my_ Dad.’

Douglas stops dead, and stares at Martin. For a moment all his bravado is forgotten. ‘Really?’ he asks, and he almost sounds hopeful. Martin nods earnestly and Douglas reasserts his unflappable demeanour. ‘Why? He’s horrible.’

‘Not always,’ Martin reasons calmly. Sometimes, Douglas thinks, more annoyed than impressed, his little brother does manage to sound awfully grown up – for a baby anyway. ‘Sometimes he was nice, when he was in a good mood. And sometimes I think, maybe if he was in a good mood more often – maybe if I – or we – or, well, maybe if –’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Douglas interrupts gruffly, noting with awkward discomfort that Martin’s eyes are looking dangerously watery. ‘He was just horrible because he likes being horrible. It wasn’t your fault, or Arthur’s, or mine, or Mum’s. He’s just like that.’

‘Thanks,’ says Martin quietly. Then, ‘but…well…if I get sad about my Dad even though he’s horrible, then it’s okay for you to be sad about yours even if you don’t like him, either.’

Douglas doesn’t answer. He continues pacing around the edge of the playground, staring at the floor. He was still two weeks away from his fourth birthday when his father walked out, but he remembers the argument – or rather argument _s_ – that had led up to it. He still can’t explain his own sulky mood though; it’s not like he even misses his father. Or Gordon, come to that. And he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop with Herc.

‘Let’s play something,’ he suggests abruptly.

‘Tag!’ Arthur calls in triumph, having finally reached the top of the slide and immediately sitting and pushing himself down it again.

‘Tag’s boring,’ Douglas counters. He likes winning, but it’s no fun if there’s not even any _challenge_.

‘Hide and Seek?’ Martin pipes up, looking hopeful.

‘I get to be It,’ Douglas replies quickly. Martin looks crestfallen.

‘But _I_ wanted to be It!’

‘I’m oldest, I get to choose. I’m It.’ Martin pouts, but doesn’t argue. ‘Okay, I’ll count to ten –’

‘Ten’s not long enough!’ Martin exclaims fearfully, already peering frantically around looking for a hiding place; Douglas rolls his eyes.

‘I’m not counting to a hundred.’

‘Fifty.’

‘Ten.’

‘Twenty.’

‘Ten.’

‘Seventeen and a half.’

‘I’m not doing _halves_. Ten.’

‘Sixteen.’

‘ _Ten_.’ Martin scowls, stubbornly not moving from the swing, and tries his best to stare his brother down. Douglas rolls his eyes. ‘Oh, fine…fifteen.’

‘Okay!’ Martin jumps up and dashes towards the gate,

‘Hang on!’ Douglas shouts, ‘you have to wait until I’ve closed my eyes. Okay… _go_!’ Snapping his eyes shut and covering them with his hands, Douglas begins to count under his breath; he doesn’t bother peeking, there’s no point. After several moments he hears a scuffle as Martin tries to open the gate the wrong way, then a thud – he momentarily considers opening his eyes to make sure his brothers are both okay (after all, he’s the one who’ll get in trouble if they aren’t) but there’s no cry of distress, so he doesn’t.

‘ _Ten_!’ he calls, raising his voice so it reaches to wherever they have both run off to. ‘Eleven!’ He hears a giggle; Arthur hasn’t gone far, then. ‘Twelve!’ He can’t hear Martin anymore. ‘Thirteen!’ He lowers his hands, but doesn’t open his eyes yet. ‘Fourteen… _fifteen_! Coming, ready or not!’

He opens his eyes, and they instantly fall on Arthur, who is curled up on the floor barely three feet from him.

‘You can’t hide under the _swing_ ,’ Douglas tells him exasperatedly.

‘Wow, you found me really quickly!’

‘That’s because you’re not even hiding properly. Come on, let’s find Martin.’ Scanning the immediate area, and feeling slightly impressed despite himself, Douglas can’t spot any sign of his other sibling.

00000

The instant Douglas covers his eyes, Martin bolts towards the gate and slams into it, hard. The impact knocks the breath out of him, but he doesn’t slow down; lurching back to give it space, he grabs the gate, pulls it inwards, and dashes through. Tripping over his shoelace and gasping as he stumbles but still not stopping, determined to beat Douglas, he heads for the trees. He is only in the open for a few seconds at most, but the sprint seems to last forever and once he reaches their cover, Martin hides behind the first thick tree-trunk he comes across, out of breath and panting. He allows himself a moment of rest before peeking around the edge. Douglas is still counting. Martin grins.

‘Are they your brothers?’

Martin jumps in fright and nearly hits his head on a low branch, letting out a little yelp of surprise and looking around for the speaker. A girl, he thinks, but he can’t see her. She giggles.

‘Up here, silly.’

He looks straight up into the branches of his current hiding place, but still can’t spot her.

‘Behind you,’ she stifles another laugh, and Martin turns, still peering upwards. Then, finally, he makes out a shape; she is very high up. ‘Hello,’ she says brightly, taking one hand from her branch and waving. Martin can’t make out her expression, but it sounds like she is smiling.

‘Hi,’ he replies nervously, completely forgetting about concealment and stepping closer to her tree. It doesn’t help; he just has to crane his neck back even further to keep her in sight.

‘If you’re trying to hide from them, you should probably come up here,’ she tells him matter-of-factly. Martin eyes the thin branches warily. ‘Here, look,’ she hops neatly down from her place in the Y-shape between branch and trunk, and leans over to point, one hand clutching a groove in the bark tightly. ‘You can reach that branch if you jump, and pull yourself up. The rest is easy.’

Martin still looks doubtful. The girl giggles again.

‘My name’s Theresa,’ she says, watching Martin jump, grab wildly for the branch and miss by about a foot. ‘What’s yours?’

‘Martin!’ he gasps, jumping again and this time managing to wrap both hands around the branch, which creaks ominously. He kicks his feet to scramble up the trunk, pulling himself into the tree properly. He’s never climbed a tree before. It’s harder than he expected from watching Douglas and the other children at school. Theresa watches him silently, resisting the automatic urge to climb down and offer him her hand. As he finally gets himself perched securely on the lowest branch, they both turn towards the approaching sound of Douglas’s voice.

‘Quick!’ Theresa urges, and Martin moves with surprising speed onto the next branch; Theresa’s eyes snap shut of their own accord when he almost slips, and she daren’t open them again until the frantic rustling stops and he whispers ‘ _I’m okay_!’ to her through the leaves.

‘Here – come on, up here!’ Theresa reaches down as soon as Martin is close enough, and hauls him up onto her own branch, which is easily thick enough to support both their weight despite the slightly terrified expression on Martin’s face when she does it. ‘Now shh!’ she commands, for all the world as though she is the one hiding and Martin is about to give her position away.

Both of them have to stifle their giggles as Douglas finally moves into the little copse of trees, peering around the trunks suspiciously, sometimes slowly and sometimes with a sudden jump as though hoping to catch Martin unawares. Arthur is some way off already, crouching on the ground and helpfully checking under rocks and fallen leaves.

Martin watches with both hands pressing hard against his lips to prevent any errant bursts of laughter, arms locked around a thin branch in front of him so that it nestles in the crook of his elbows. He feels Theresa shift next to him and looks around. She places a finger on her lips in a silent “shushing” gesture and digs into her pocket with her other hand. She isn’t even bothering to hold onto a branch with more than her firmly bent legs, and Martin automatically wants to reach out and grab her so she doesn’t fall but she exudes such a _Douglas-ish_ air of complete confidence that he stops himself.

After a moment of quiet fumbling, she pulls her hand out of her pocket and holds it out to Martin with a mischievous grin. On her palm, looking perfectly innocent but impossibly tempting, is a large shiny conker. Theresa glances pointedly down, to where Douglas, some way off, has finally begun to look into the branches of the surrounding trees. Martin’s eyes widen, caught between fear and giddy excitement. He nods.

Theresa’s hand doesn’t move.

He looks at her face again, startled. She rolls her eyes, pries his fingers from his mouth and places the conker in his hand, gesturing again at Douglas and looking exasperated, but amused. Martin bites his lip.

‘Go on,’ Theresa whispers encouragingly, then Martin feels her fingers curl into the back of his T-shirt and hold on, ‘don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.’

Martin grins and blushes furiously at the same time; Theresa giggles.

Martin squints, pulls back his arm ever so carefully, takes aim…and misses. Douglas looks around with a start and glares through the trees, but is too far away to see them just yet. Theresa lets go of Martin’s T-shirt and has to cover her own mouth to stop the laughter now. ‘Here,’ she says, a little more loudly now that they’re about to give their position away anyway, ‘let me.’ She digs into her pocket again and pulls out another, slightly smaller, conker. Sticking her tongue out with concentration and moving into a sort of half-crouch on the branch, she aims with practised ease and bounces the conker off the back of Douglas’s head.

‘ _Ow_!’ Douglas shouts, ‘Martin, that hurt! Where are you?’

‘Oh, don’t be such a baby,’ Theresa scoffs, but so that only Martin can hear. ‘I didn’t throw it _that_ hard.’

Douglas is scowling and looking up into the branches of all the surrounding trees, feeling distinctly put-out at his continuing failure to find his brother. Martin isn’t supposed to actually _win_ these games. It’s just…not _done_. It’s not _fair_.

Theresa, now thoroughly enjoying herself, slips down to the branch below Martin and leans out – Martin gasps at her daring – reaching for a thinner branch which is now directly over Douglas’s head. She gives it a hard shake, then has to collapse back against the trunk to stop herself falling out of the tree altogether, shaking with suppressed laughter as Douglas splutters angrily, damp golden leaves scattering all around him and some hitting him full in the face.

‘ _Martin_!’ he exclaims. Arthur jumps around him gleefully trying to catch the falling leaves. Theresa leans over once more and waits until she is sure Douglas can see her. Looking him directly in the eye, she smiles winningly and waves.

‘Hello!’ she says.

‘Who are you?’ Douglas asks rudely.

‘Theresa,’ Theresa replies promptly. ‘Sorry about the conker,’ she pauses, ‘and the leaves.’

She doesn’t sound very sorry. Douglas opens his mouth to protest that being hit in the back of the head with a conker _hurts_ , stops himself, then wonders if he should say it anyway. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s been embarrassed by a _girl_ , but then, he wouldn’t want to admit to his mother that the thought of being embarrassed by a girl was any worse than being embarrassed by a boy. He’s heard enough of her conversations with Herc to understand how she would react to _that_.

In the end, he simply asks, ‘where’s Martin?’

Theresa turns and points at the same time as Martin calls ‘up here!’ and takes one hand off the branch – the other still holding on for dear life – to wave. He wobbles dangerously and grabs the branch again, grazing his palm in the process.

Arthur waves back. Douglas doesn’t.

‘What are you doing up there?’ he demands impatiently.

‘ _Hiding_ ,’ Marin replies, sounding suddenly overjoyed, ‘and I _won_! You didn’t find me! I _won_!’

Theresa raises her eyebrows at him imperiously and he looks momentarily humbled. ‘Thanks,’ he mutters.

‘You’re welcome,’ says Theresa, putting on her very best _posh_ voice. ‘Shall we?’ And with that, she swings gracefully down to the next branch, and the next, until she at last jumps to the ground with the agility of a monkey. The final branch gives another loud creak. Martin has never seen anything like it – she doesn’t even hurt her ankles when she lands, just straightens up and dusts off her jeans, looking faintly bored. Even _Douglas_ bruises his ankles when he does that. Martin gapes.

‘Well?’ Theresa asks, after several seconds pass and none of them move. ‘Are you coming down? What shall we play next?’

Martin has both arms wrapped around the branch in front of him again and is staring at the ground, looking pale and a little sick. ‘I think…’ he says, then swallows. ‘I think I’ll just stay here for a bit.’

‘Don’t be silly –’ Douglas begins, but Theresa interrupts.

‘Are you okay?’ she asks seriously.

‘I’m fine,’ Martin calls. ‘I just…I like it up here, that’s all. I’ll stay for a while.’

Douglas frowns, looking suddenly troubled. ‘Are you stuck?’ he asks. Martin shakes his head fiercely, then lets out a little cry of fear when the movement causes him to lose his grip and he slips. His grazed palm stings where the bark scrapes across it.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Theresa says soothingly, ‘just come back down the way you went up, see? Look, there’s a branch below you –’

Martin looks, and shakes his head again. ‘It’s too far!’

Theresa immediately begins scanning for a closer one, but Douglas beats her to it, all of his irritation at her taunting apparently forgotten.

‘Look, there – behind you, a little way round – try that one.’

Arthur watches silently. Martin, bolstered by the knowledge that this is _Douglas_ and Douglas always know what to do, cranes his neck around, not daring to loosen his grip, until he sees where his brother is pointing.

‘It’s too far,’ he whispers.

‘You have to try,’ says Theresa, ‘you’ll be fine.’

Martin looks at her, then at Douglas, then back at the branch. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, then slowly – very, very slowly – uncurls himself from around his safety branch and extends a foot towards the one Douglas indicated.

Almost – almost –

He manages to touch it with the ends of his toes and tries to put his weight on it, but there is a patch of moss under his foot and he slips – crying out in fear, he grabs again at the previous branch and pulls himself back up, breathing hard.

‘I can’t do it,’ he says.

‘Shall I come and get you?’ asks Douglas, already trying to plan a route up. Theresa gives him an appraising glance, as though re-evaluating her opinion of him. He pays her no attention; Martin is in trouble, and while no doubt he will tease his little brother for it mercilessly later, right now there are more important things on hand.

‘But what if you get stuck too?’ Martin wails, by now sounding panicky and tearful.

‘I won’t get stuck, I know what I’m doing,’ Douglas replies confidently, trying not to let his brother’s apprehension get to him. ‘When have I ever been wrong before?’ Martin blinks furiously, struggling not to cry. He hadn’t realised how high up he’d been until he was on his own; now the ground looks _miles_ away and he doesn’t want Theresa to think he’s silly but he _can’t_ make himself move again. If he moves he might _fall_ and if he falls from all the way up here –

‘But what if you do?’ Martin asks, ‘what if you get stuck or you fall and then I’m stuck too and then I can’t get down and Arthur’s on his own and –’

‘I’ll look after Arthur,’ says Theresa quickly, putting her arm around the younger boy’s shoulders.

‘I’m coming up, okay?’ says Douglas, stepping forward, scanning the lowest branches, and choosing the same one that both Martin and Theresa had started on; it’s not _very_ thick – he could probably wrap both hands around its entire diameter and have his fingers touch – but it looks like enough to hold his weight briefly, and it’s the only reachable one that does. ‘Just hold on, I’ll be there in a minute.’

Taking a deep breath, Douglas bends his knees, tenses his muscles, and springs up, grabbing the slightly damp branch – and falling flat on his back, jarring his shoulder badly and smacking his head on the ground, hard. He blinks, dizzy, and it takes a moment to get his bearings.

‘Douglas!’ Martin shouts.

‘Are you okay?’ Theresa rushes forward and pulls something off Douglas’s chest which he realises a second later is the branch, now cracked and broken and surprisingly heavy.

‘I’m fine,’ Douglas replies automatically, rubbing his head and sitting up. Tears spring to his eyes as the movement sends a sharp stab of pain up his spine. He looks at the tree critically as he pushes himself to his feet, allowing Arthur to take his hand and “help” – although he would probably do better if he had both hands free to steady himself, as he sways dangerously on the spot.

To his dismay, he sees that the branch snapped off only an inch or so from the trunk, and the end is splintered and looks sharp and dangerous. There isn’t enough left to even get a reliable hand-hold, let alone pull himself high enough to reach the next branch without slipping.

He considers telling Martin to try and climb down by himself again – he should be alright, as long as the upper branches hold. He can just jump when he reaches the last one. Okay, it’s higher than he would have had to jump before, but he can manage it, can’t he?

But what if one of the branches higher up _does_ break? What if he _can’t_ jump that last distance safely? What if Martin ends up seriously _hurt_ because of this?

Douglas fights down a moment of genuine fear as Martin shifts his grip and his branch creaks loudly. He moves a few steps around the tree, eyes on the next highest branch and a look of utter determination on his face.

‘Douglas, it’s too high –’ Theresa begins, but Douglas is already jumping for it. He misses, tries again, and misses again. A drop of rain lands on his nose. He takes several steps back and tries a running jump, but even that doesn’t work.

‘Give me a leg-up,’ Douglas says, shaking his hair out of his eyes and standing back, waiting for Theresa to make a step for him with her hands. She doesn’t move. ‘Give me a leg-up, please?’

The rain is starting in earnest now.

‘Douglas!’ Martin calls. The fear in his voice is palpable.

‘What if you _do_ fall?’ Theresa asks, biting her lip.

Douglas says a word he has only ever heard Mum use when she is _very_ angry, which makes Arthur gasp. He is going to be in _so_ much trouble if Mum finds out – it’ll be all _his_ fault Martin decided to climb the stupid tree in the first place, it’s bound to be.

On the other hand, he’ll be in even more trouble if Martin falls and hurts himself because Douglas didn’t go for help when he needed it. Then it really _would_ be his fault.

He makes a decision.

‘I’m going to get Mum,’ he says, with authority. ‘Martin, hold on tight. Don’t try and climb down until I get back, we’ll bring a ladder or something. Theresa, can you look after Arthur?’

Theresa nods. Douglas takes a deep breath, tamping down the rush of images threatening to overwhelm him of the ways this could go wrong. It’s Martin; if something _can_ go wrong, it almost definitely _will_ go wrong.

‘And _don’t_ try and get him yourselves, okay?’ He winces. ‘That hurt.’

‘Can I come?’ Arthur asks eagerly.

‘No,’ says Douglas firmly, ‘you’ll slow me down.’ Then, more kindly, he adds, ‘besides, you need to stay and help Theresa look after Martin. Okay?’

‘Okay!’

‘I’ll be back soon. I promise. Okay, Martin?’

Martin doesn’t reply.

‘Martin, _okay_?’ he shouts a little louder over the noise of the rain.

‘Yes,’ Martin replies quietly. Douglas nods, and sets off at a trot, which quickly becomes a jog, then – cringing with pain all the while – a sprint. He knows Martin. Martin is going to try and climb down himself before long, fear or no fear, because if there is one thing he cannot resist it is trying to _prove himself_ to Douglas. Which is normally exactly the way it should be, of course; what kind of big brother would he be if Martin and Arthur weren’t more than a little in awe of him? But he can feel the bruises coming up on his back and arm already, and he’d only fallen from the first branch – not even that – if Martin falls from all the way up there –

Why was he even climbing in the first place? Martin never climbs trees.

Why did Douglas let him go off on his own? This _is_ all his fault.

He dashes round a corner, nearly barrelling straight into an old lady with a fussy little poodle who yaps at him as he passes, stumbling and pulling himself upright again –

Left, down the short-cut –

Right –

Across the road, ignore the postman’s indignant shout as he splashes through the rapidly filling puddle –

Down the drive, burst through the door, now feeling irrationally panicky –

‘Mum?’ he calls, tearing open the front door, ‘ _Mum!_ ’

He tumbles into the hall just as the living room door opens and Herc steps out, looking quietly concerned.

‘Douglas – are you alright? What’s happened?’

‘Where’s Mum?’ Douglas demands,

‘She went shopping,’ Herc replies, ‘where are Arthur and Martin? Have you had a fight?’

‘ _No_!’ Douglas insists indignantly. Now he doesn’t know what to do. He needs the ladder, but he doesn’t think he can carry it all the way to the park by himself, and he doesn’t know how long Mum will be gone –

‘Well, what’s wrong? Here, calm down,’ Herc crouches in front of him so his head is a little below the level of Douglas’s, ‘what’s happened?’

Forgetting for a moment all the animosity he has towards this intruder into his family’s life, forgetting that Herc is not his father, nor Martin’s, nor Arthur’s, and that none of them even _need_ a father because they have _Mum_ , Douglas is surprised to find his heart rate slowly returning to normal and his panic receding. Maybe Herc can drive him to the supermarket and they can pick Mum up and _then_ go back to the park? But that might take too long…

‘Martin’s stuck up a tree,’ he explains eventually, still a little breathless, ‘we were playing Hide and Seek and he hid up a tree but now he can’t get down and I tried to get him but the branch broke and we need Mum to get the ladder –’ He finds, to his embarrassment, that he is on the verge of tears, and somewhere in the back of his mind berates himself for it. He’s only in a _tree_ , it’s not like he’s in actual _danger_ …but what if he falls? Douglas remembers when Karl from school fell off the climbing frame. He had to have a cast on his arm for _weeks_. Martin had drawn little aeroplanes all over it.

‘Well, how about I come with the ladder instead?’ Herc asks reasonably, straightening up and taking the garage keys from the hook. Douglas stares for a moment. It had never occurred to him that _Herc_ could help. ‘We’ll have him down in no time, don’t worry.’

‘I’m not worried,’ Douglas lies quickly.

‘Of course you aren’t,’ Herc replies, ‘wait here, and I’ll get the ladder, okay? And then you can show me where Martin is and we’ll get him down, and everything will be alright.’ He speaks calmly, soothingly, and much to Douglas’s irritation, he finds his earlier rush of panic leaking away.

00000

It takes far too long to get back to the park. Douglas walks several steps in front of Herc the whole way, limping now as the pain in his back dies down only for his hip to start throbbing.

They have only just come in sight of the little copse of trees at the back of the park when Theresa hurtles towards them, skidding to a halt less than a foot away and looking desperately relieved to see them.

‘Douglas!’ she exclaims, ignoring Herc for the moment, ‘he’s crying, I don’t know what to do, he tried to climb down himself but he slipped again and I think he’s hurt his hand and I wanted to come and get you but I didn’t know where you lived and I didn’t want to leave Martin on his own and Arthur –’

‘I’m coming,’ says Douglas, allowing Theresa to grab his hand and pull him away at a run, leaving Herc to catch up when he can. They arrive back at the tree in seconds. Both of them are gasping for breath and soaking wet, but both immediately call up to Martin to reassure him.

‘Your Dad –’ begins Theresa.

‘Herc’s on his way,’ Douglas interrupts. ‘He’s got the ladder; you’ll be down in a minute.’

Now that he is back under the tree and can actually see Martin, even though his brother is clinging more tightly than ever to the tree and looking utterly terrified at the prospect of having to move again, Douglas finds himself calming down. He is suddenly ashamed of his earlier fear, and scowls.

He’ll still have his mother to deal with later, though. Herc is _bound_ to tell her.

‘Thank you,’ says Martin in a small voice. Then, ‘I’ll tell Mum it wasn’t your fault.’

Before Douglas can think of an answer to that, he hears Herc’s footsteps behind him and turns to look. For a moment, all he feels is relief, which he quickly buries and tries to forget about before he finds himself actually, God forbid, _grateful_ to him.

‘Now,’ says Herc, ‘just hold on a moment Martin, and you’ll be down in no time.’ He stretches out the ladder and leans it up against the tree.  ‘Do you want to try and come down yourself?’

Martin shakes his head.

‘Okay. Boys – young lady –’

‘Theresa.’

‘Theresa. Could you three hold the ladder for me while I go up? Be very careful, and don’t let it slip, alright?’ All three of them nod solemnly. ‘Good lads. And lady.’

‘Where’s Mum?’ asks Martin when Herc is halfway up the ladder.

‘She went shopping,’ says Herc, ‘so I came instead. Are you okay?’

Martin nods, even though he isn’t really. He glances down at Douglas.

‘It wasn’t Douglas’s fault,’ he says. Herc gives little huff of amusement. In his experience, things which are claimed not to be Douglas’s fault are invariably Douglas’s fault. Remembering Douglas’s evident concern on his arrival at the house, though, and taking into account the fact that Martin _does_ have a tendency to bite off more than he can chew in an effort to impress people, Herc thinks he can let this one slide.

‘Of course it wasn’t,’ he says, ‘it was just an accident, wasn’t it? It happens to the best of us. I bet your Mum won’t even be annoyed; she’ll be proud you were so brave, won’t she Douglas?’ he raises his voice for this last question, and Douglas calls back in the affirmative even though he privately doubts it.

Reaching the top of the ladder, Herc braces his feet against the wet metal and holds out a hand for Martin. ‘Come on, then,’ he says calmly, ‘you can do it.’ Martin shakes his head. ‘Martin, come on. It’s okay, you aren’t going to fall. I won’t let you. All you have to do is hold onto my hand and I’ll help you over here, and then we’ll get back on the ground, okay? Do you trust me?’

Martin doesn’t reply; the longer he stays up here, the more convinced he becomes that the moment he lets go something terrible will happen.

‘Arthur?’ Herc calls, not taking his eyes off Martin. ‘Do you think I can get Martin down safely?’

‘Yes!’ Arthur calls back up cheerily and with absolute conviction.

‘Douglas?’ Herc tries not to let himself cringe and hopes against hope Douglas will at least lie for the sake of his brother, if not for Herc himself. ‘Do you trust me?’

There is a pause. Herc holds his breath.

‘Yes,’ Douglas calls eventually. ‘I trust him, Martin. He’ll get you down safely. Do as he says.’

Martin looks down at Douglas, who must make some sort of sign of encouragement, because then he raises his eyes to Herc’s face and, gritting his teeth, uncurls his fingers from the wet bark.

‘That’s it,’ says Herc. ‘Go steady now…slow as you like, make sure you hold on. That’s it. A little bit further. There we go…’ he reaches out and takes Martin’s hand in his, guiding him awkwardly over the branches that separate them. ‘That’s it. See? It’s not so scary after all now, is it? You’re being very brave. I bet even Douglas is impressed. Is that girl down there your friend? She’s going to be very proud of you, I know I am. Come on. There.’

At long last, he manages to manoeuvre Martin through the tree until the little boy has both feet firmly on the top rung of the ladder.

‘Now, I’ve got to let go of you for a minute, okay? I need to hold onto the ladder because it’s slippery and I might fall if I don’t. But you’re safe now, aren’t you? Just hold on, and climb down after me. Watch your step – don’t rush…’

He keeps up a murmured stream of encouragement all the way to the bottom; they have to stop halfway when Martin almost loses his footing and Herc puts one arm around his waist until he’s steady again.

When his feet are finally on solid ground again, Martin bursts into a fresh set of tears and throws his arms around Herc’s waist. Herc crouches down so that Martin’s arms around over his shoulders instead, then straightens up, scooping the six year old into his arms and eyeing the ladder doubtfully.

‘Is everyone okay?’

Douglas, Arthur and Theresa all nod, looking a little shaky.

‘Theresa, thank you very much for your help; are you okay to find your own way home or would you like us to walk with you?’

‘I’m okay,’ says Theresa. ‘What about your ladder?’

‘I’ll come back for it.’

Douglas looks thoughtfully between Martin and the ladder. He can’t carry the latter, but the former…

‘How about a piggy-back, Martin?’ Martin lifts his tear-stained and rain-streaked face from where he has buried it in Herc’s shoulder and looks at Douglas. ‘I’ll give you a piggy-back home, and Herc can carry the ladder.’

If Herc is surprised by the offer, he doesn’t show it. ‘How about it, Martin?’ he asks. In answer, Martin squirms out of his grasp and Douglas bends his knees a little so Martin can climb up more easily. Herc leaves the boys to say goodbye to their friend while he folds the ladder back up.

‘I’m glad you’re okay,’ Theresa says to Martin. ‘Your Dad is really cool.’

None of the boys correct her assumption.

00000

Later, when Carolyn is putting Arthur to bed and Martin has calmed down at last and retreated to his room to play with his model aeroplanes, Herc finds himself alone with Douglas for the first time since the walk to the park that afternoon.

‘Thank you,’ he says quietly. Douglas looks up from his book and frowns.

‘For what?’

‘For lying to Martin for me. When I asked you if you trusted me,’ Herc says, kindly but bluntly. Douglas opens his mouth to protest, but Herc is too quick for him. ‘I’m not encouraging you to lie,’ he says, wanting to make that very clear before he continues, ‘but it was mature of you to put your brother’s feelings first, and say what he needed to hear to make him feel better. I think you handled today very well, especially coming for help when you thought you might get in trouble. I’m proud of you.’

Douglas is quiet for a long time, and Herc assumes he has decided not to answer. He turns away. In this instance, being ignored might actually be progress, of a kind.

Douglas closes his book, very slowly. He gets up, frowning and debating furiously whether to say what he is thinking. At the door he stops and turns back.

‘I wasn’t lying.’

**Author's Note:**

> I am by no means finished with this 'verse just yet, so watch this space (but don't hold your breath, it could be a while).
> 
> In the meantime, I'd be happy to take prompts if you have them, especially any Arthur-centric ones, since he hasn't really done much so far this series...


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